AANYA

The fair looked different now.

Same noise, same colours, same chaos—but Aanya felt… quieter inside. The kind of quiet that follows after something significant happens, even if you cannot name it yet.

She walked toward the exit, the evening breeze brushing jasmine across her senses. Her fingers drifted to her diary tucked under her arm, but she didn’t open it yet.

Her mind was already writing.

Veer Singh Rathore.

The name echoed like a stone dropped into still water, creating ripples that touched everything else.

She replayed the moment he’d looked at her like she’d caught him off guard—like she’d read something he hadn’t meant to show. Most people hid their feelings; Veer strangled his. His anger, his guilt, his gentleness with the child… all layered like tightly shut doors.

Her lips curved.

He thinks he’s complicated.

But complication didn’t scare her.

It interests me.

She sighed, adjusting her dupatta.

He had a presence—heavy, storm-like. The kind that makes the air charged without raising its voice. And yet, despite his anger and frustration, he hadn’t once been cruel. Just… conflicted.

And then there was the look he gave her when she walked away.

Not attraction.

Not admiration.

Recognition.

As if she’d become a problem he needed to solve.

Aanya pushed her spectacles up and finally opened her diary.

She wrote:

“He avoids eye contact when he feels too much.”

“Anger shields vulnerability.”

“Strong loyalty. Strong ego. Strong everything.”

She paused.

Then, almost shyly, wrote one more line:

“Interesting man.”

She closed the diary before she could overthink it.

---

VEER

He was still staring at the empty space where she had disappeared.

Raghav had left to get lemonade, thankfully, because Veer needed silence. Not the world’s silence—his own. Inside, everything was loud. Too loud.

Rohit’s mother had thanked him again before leaving. But that wasn’t the moment stuck replaying in his head.

It was her.

Aanya Malik.

The way she’d looked at him—straight, calm, seeing everything. He hated that. Or he should have hated that. He wasn’t sure anymore.

Veer dragged a palm down his face.

She thinks she can read me. Just like that.

Easy, she said.

His jaw clenched so hard it ached.

Nobody read him.

Nobody could.

Not his father, who only saw discipline.

Not the world, which only saw his temper.

Not even Raghav, who understood him but didn’t always see through him.

But she—

Damn that girl.

He remembered her soft voice telling him, “Dil bohot naram hai aapka.”

And the way it hit him straight in the chest.

“You don’t know me,” he muttered under his breath, walking toward the exit even though she was long gone. “Tum kya samjhegi?”

He hated the twist in his stomach.

He hated how his fingers kept replaying her name.

But more than that…

He hated that she wasn’t wrong.

---

AANYA — LATER THAT NIGHT

The house was quiet.

Her mother was humming while folding clothes, her father reading a book on the veranda, and Harsh loudly recounting how he’d “saved a kid” today—claiming credit for absolutely nothing.

Aanya sat on her bed, diary open again.

Why am I still thinking about him?

She shut her eyes.

Because he was… unexpected.

Most men tried to impress.

Veer tried to guard himself.

Most men hid behind ego.

Veer was ego—but not hollow ego. He wasn’t arrogant, just… protective of himself, like vulnerability was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

Aanya exhaled slowly and wrote:

“His anger is fear in disguise.”

“He carries a weight I don’t understand yet.”

Then she hesitated before adding:

“He looked at me like… he wasn’t ready for me.”

She snapped the diary shut when she realized she was smiling.

---

VEER — THAT SAME NIGHT

Veer couldn’t sleep.

His room felt too small, too restless. He lay back on his charpai, staring at the ceiling, replaying the way Aanya had pushed her spectacles up before telling him exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

Raghav’s voice echoed:

“Bhai… tu us chhori mein fas gaya.”

Veer grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at the wall.

“I’m not stuck,” he muttered.

“I just… she irritated me. Bas.”

But his mind betrayed him.

He kept seeing her kneeling next to the lost boy, speaking softly.

He kept hearing her calm voice saying, “Sochna mera kaam hai.”

He kept feeling that strange pull in his chest when she’d walked away.

He growled into his hands.

What is wrong with me?

He’d never met someone who dug under his skin so fast.

He didn’t like it.

No—he hated it.

But beneath that anger, beneath that ego, something else simmered.

Something he couldn’t name.

Something he didn’t want to name.

He turned on his side and forced his eyes shut.

But sleep didn’t come easily.

Because every time he drifted close, he saw her eyes again.

Calm. Knowing. Too knowing.

And something inside him whispered—

She’s going to be trouble.

---

AANYA

She finally drifted to sleep with her diary resting beside her.

The last thought in her mind:

He’s angry at himself. Not at me.

And something about that made her heart feel warm.

Too warm.

---

VEER

He slept only after convincing himself he would never meet her again.

A lie he already knew wouldn’t hold.

Because fate—whether he liked it or not—had a habit of bringing storms and calm together.

And she…

She was calm.

Calm enough to shake him.

***